


House of the Slain

by vesuviannights



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: AFAB reader (chapter 1), AMAB reader (chapter 2), Big Dick Devorak, Devil Julian, Exhibitionism, F/M, M/M, No pronouns used for either just genitals, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 18:02:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20878415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesuviannights/pseuds/vesuviannights
Summary: “He came for you in the witching hour, a shadow that lingered and watched when the darkness was already suffocating you in every way you knew. Tilting your head up to meet his blackened gaze, he had promised you safety, love, affection, to never want for anything again, eternity.”When Julian's eternal punishment is to preside over the Devil’s realm, you - in every sense of the word - are all he desires.(Chapter 1 is AFAB no pronouns, Chapter 2 is AMAB no pronouns)





	1. Devil Julian/AFAB Reader

**Author's Note:**

> I normally don’t put any commentary before my fics, and I won’t put too much here, but I just wanted to say that I had so, so much fun writing this. I have been playing with the idea of Devil Julian for so long, and I wanted this to have a specific vibe. Most of all, I wanted to make sure that it was accessible to people of all genders - and not just in the way where I changed pussy/cunt to dick/cock and called it a day, but one where I really described the individual experience of each body. I hope I captured that, and if you’re reading one version, go ahead and read the other just for some extra thirst! Love you all, and I hope you love this 🖤

He came for you in the witching hour, a shadow that lingered and watched when the darkness was already suffocating you in every way you knew. Tilting your head up to meet his blackened gaze, he had promised you safety, love, affection, to never want for anything again, _eternity_.

“I will give you everything you so desire, my love,” he had crooned into your neck, his lips to your pulse, his taloned fingertips raking at your stomach with an edge that made you shiver. “Every morsel of food you crave, rooms of splendid books, musicians who will play any symphony for your wanting ears, any trinket you could imagine with your dizzy mind.”

Still locked into the abyss of his gaze, you felt his hand slide further down your stomach, talons retracting until he found you between your thighs, wet and aching and trembling. His fingers had made such fast work of you as he spoke, seeming to know every inch of your being, as though he were born for the sole purpose of making you whimper his name.

“I will make you scream,” he had murmured against your lips, though never with a kiss, he would not have allowed you such a gift without a bargain. “And sigh and cry out and arch against me, so happy and loved and filled. Oh, you will never want in this vile world ever again. All you must do, my love, my sweetest poison, is agree to be mine. Won’t you be mine, for an eternity and a day?”

You had accepted his offer without thought, before he had even had a chance to make you gasp and tremble, letting him steal you away in the night and away to his domain, never to be seen again.

*****

You had learned quickly that he could not lie, and that every word he had whispered to you that night in his delicate croon had not merely been to woo and weaken your will.

The gifts he presented you with were boundless, and every thought or whim was seemingly read by him the moment it entered your consciousness, ending in you being presented with the solution a mere moment after. 

Exotic foods, crackling woodfires, endless rows of tombs and trinkets, the finest of silks, musicians who would play until their fingers bled just to hear you sigh in the delight of their sounds—anything you so desired, and every part of it was for you.

But his gifts to you weren’t merely objects, or people to puppet and taunt at his will. His appetite as this being knew no bounds. This demonic beast with curved horns and blackened eyes and a soul that faded piece by piece with each passing day delighted in making you shiver and keen, in tasting every inch of your aching cunt whenever he pleased. Enjoyed fucking you for hours on end under the stars that stretched out above his black silk sheets while you writhed and cried out beneath him. 

His stamina was preternatural, an inhuman and almost feral feature to his new body. He came as often or as little as he liked, as much as he needed to, filling you with his seed, listening to you whimper at the warmth of it. Nothing seemed to turn him on more than the flush of your cheeks as he watched it drip out of you, as he patted the swell of your stomach after filling you for hours, or as he ran the sharp points of his talons over the streaks of it that were still dried along your inner thighs hours later.

But in his eternity of torment and punishment as the ruler of this new monstrous realm and its demonic dwellers, he wanted nothing more than you, to please and hold and have you whenever he so desired. And in giving yourself to him – in agreeing to come here, to be his, for an eternity and a day – you had never once wanted for anything in return.

*****

He calls for you one evening with a soft croon, a low voice that seems to carry on the whispers of magic that linger throughout his palace and between the bodies of his chattering court, out to where you are standing on the balcony overlooking the city.

_My dearest love, won’t you come join me on my throne?_

You would have answered him, in any version of your world even without the pull at the base of your throat, the magical tether that kept you _his_. 

Your fingertips curl around the frame as you step into the room, his glorious throne looming in the center, casting shadows along every wall and edge and face in the room. 

And perched upon it is your love, your devil, your eternity, shadows spilling from his eyes, curling around his body, seeping out into the room and holding every member of his court prisoner, forced to watch as the object of his affections—the only true thing he cares for—steps into view.

As you wait for your orders, feet held by an unseen force that is part you, part him, your eyes drag up the dais to where he is perched. His chin is propped up on his arm, his knees spread, and he is looking every bit a man—a devil, a beast—that has always wanted to be where he is.

“Will you crawl for me, my pet?” He speaks in a lazy murmur, as though your entrance has woken him from a slumber, slowly rousing his interest in the world around him. “Will you let me see how those delicate chains swing and pull on your breasts as you move, how you whimper and sigh and every eye in this room turn green?”

There was once a time where you might have flushed at his words. Where you might have tried to stutter out an apology to people listening. Or turned away so as to avoid their attentions when they heard what he wanted from you. Where you would have looked down to avoid his gaze so that it couldn’t wrap itself around your throat, your heart, your soul. 

But the reality of it was that he was already in all of those places, his lingering shadows woven so intricately throughout every heartbeat and breath that if you ever tried to turn away, ever tried to deny him, something might break that you would never be able to fix again.

And so you—dressed in nothing but heels, nipple clamps, a collar—get down on your knees to crawl. It’s a slow but practised movement, one you know how to do so perfectly, so exact, to ensure his attentions and pleasure. 

He seems to grow ten times in size as he eyes you in your approach, the air thrumming and crackling with the tendrils of his power as it reaches out to every corner and being in the room, seizing control of them. 

You feel your lips curve in a smirk at the envious looks his court throws you as you climb your way up the stairs to settle at his feet. Each movement you make—the stretch of your arms, the content little heave of your chest—pulls at your nipples, the tiny string that leads down your stomach and connects itself to the hoop pierced through your clit. You whine and falter, elbows bowing as a bolt of electricity runs through your entire body. 

A matching shiver runs through Julian’s body, his gaze keeping yours locked as you finally arrive at his feet, where he tilts your head back with a long, pointed talon.

You know this dance well. Can read each look in his blackened eyes, each twist of shadow that seeps out of him. 

He wants a show. 

He wants to be _enthralled_.

He wants to be reminded of his place in your life, that you _do_ want to be here, that his existence here isn’t a punishment but a reward, a chance to have you all to himself.

And so you sit up onto your knees, shift your hips forward, and begin to grind your cunt on his leg.

The thing about this world, about Julian’s tendrils of power that slink throughout the realm and follow you wherever you go, protecting you, letting him know where you are…it all keeps you bound to him in more ways than one, including those in which he feeds your arousal whenever he needs you, always keeps you on edge and wet and yearning for him. As though it were one last attempt at keeping you with him, even though you’ve told him so many times he doesn’t need those measures.

And so within moments, you are dripping with arousal, wet and aching and shuddering and whining against his leg, using the roughness of his hair, his skin, the hard length of bone to get yourself off. 

Your noises carry out into the chamber, a symphony for all to hear and a soothing song for Julian’s racing heart. It caresses the tiny part of him that is still human, that doubts whether you truly do want to be here, even though he asked, even though you said yes, even though for however many days or weeks or years since, you have never once denied him.

When his hand curls into your hair, you cease your movements, turning your head to nip the skin at his wrist. Your eyes are wide, begging, lips parted and waiting for him. 

He tuts, he laughs, he _croons_, and when he speaks, it carries out into every corner of the room for all to hear.

“Would you like me to finish you with my mouth, pet?” He asks. He traces your bottom lip with a single finger, and you greedily wrap your tongue around it, suckling it into your mouth to the second knuckle, moaning softly. “I’ll place you on my throne and part your pretty little thighs for all to see…to show them I will only ever be on my knees for _you_.”

You shake your head, suckling a second finger into your mouth. You begin to grind once more against his leg, up and down motions that make the chains connected to your nipples and clit shake and pull, making it perfectly clear exactly what you want.

A wicked grin curves Julian’s lips, his obsidian eyes shifting down your body. They watch the movement of your lips on his fingers, the heaving movements of your chest, the desperate little movements of your hips as you try so hard to get yourself off.

“You want my cock? Is that what you need, my pet?” You nod. “Will you take it in front of my entire court, will you writhe and scream and beg while they watch?” You nod again, and Julian growls, pulling his fingers from your mouth and taking hold of your neck, tilting your gaze up to his. “Use your words, pet.”

“Yes!” You gasp out, clawing at his hand, your hips still grinding shamelessly against his leg. “_Yes_—I want your cock, I want—I want to show everyone who I belong to—”

_Belong. Yours. Own. _Any combination of those words, murmured from your shaking lips or screamed out for the entire realm to hear, were always enough to set him off. 

In a blur of movement he has you off the ground and pinned to his body, your back against his burning chest, his cock standing proud before you nestled in a thatch of dark curls.

You don’t bother to hide your desperate little whine as your gaze falls to it. Of all the things you love about him in this form, his cock is perhaps your favourite. It is…_huge_, there is no other sweet or kind or wordy way to put it. It is impossible huge, and wide, and long, and can last for as long as you are able to—which, with the magic of the realm and the magic Julian feeds you for your energy and arousal, is seemingly forever. 

As his teeth sink into your shoulder, you feel a shudder erupt through your body, a fresh wave of arousal dripping down your thighs, joining the pearls of pre-come gathered at the head of his cock as he gently ruts against you. 

“Part your pretty thighs, pet,” Julian murmurs into your ear. His voice is so quiet, barely-there, and just for you, and if you hold your breath, you can just barely hear _him_ in there, the man he was before, and the sound makes your eyes sting.

Exhaling softly, you move as asked and he moves your hips, holding you above the weeping, swollen head of his cock. The arousal from your greedy little cunt is dripping down your thighs, more than enough to allow him to begin to stretch you, but you still feel his magic settle over you once more, easing any last tense muscles, making you just that little bit slicker and ready to take him, and you murmur your appreciation to his waiting ears.

And as he begins to lower you down onto his cock, the movement an exquisitely slow torture to would not wish on any being, you taste blood in your mouth, tongue caught between your teeth to stop you from babbling and begging and crying out for him to move faster, go deeper, tear you apart.

His face is buried in your neck as he murmurs to you, soft words and soft kisses and soft groans, letting your whines and keens be the only music to your joining movement. His grip on your hips tightens with every inch he sinks into you, until you are resting against his thighs. His cock is completely seated inside of you, and his talons have sunk into your skin, causing little beads of blood to form, shudders of pleasure replacing the pain that should be there.

You begin to move, not needing his words to know when your performance should start. You shift, a low groan erupting from your body as you squeeze around him. You hear the clinking of metal, followed a moment later by the pull of the collar around your neck, the chain wrapped securely around Julian’s fist as he settles back into his throne. 

You can see the smirk so clearly in your mind, the languid rake of his gaze as it moves along you. Your shoulders, your back, your ass, every inch of you that shifts and bounces as you ride him with sweet sighs and strangled moans. 

He cannot take his eyes from you; this court, this throne, this place, it bores him, you are what he wants. He could watch you ride his cock for hours, and sometimes he does, holding off your orgasm and feeding you magic so that you never tire, just listening to your delicious little whimpers and pleas as you bounce on his cock, skin slapping against skin.

Sometimes, when court has ended and the throne room is empty and shrouded in darkness, he’ll have you curled into his chest and neck while you cockwarm him. He’ll rake his talons up and down your back in an almost gentle touch as you shudder around him. It’s always so silent, so still, so quiet. It’s the most human you ever see him.

This won’t be one of those times, though. You can feel his magic weaving its way through your body, fuelling your energy, ensuring no movement is too much or too painful for you to handle, only pleasure, every loss of his cock as you lift off it painful, and every stretch as you sink back down euphoric.

You come apart when his teeth sink into your neck, bruising and bleeding you with his sharp little teeth for all to see. You scream, throat hoarse from the sound, crackling in your chest as you claw at him, hands in his hair, nails sinking into his thigh, each action causing him to shudder and twitch along with you, filling you with his seed, marking you in every way he can.

Once you have come back down—once your breathing has settled, and your greedy little cunt has stopped twitching around him—you lean back with a quiet murmur. The world is a muted grey, a little foggy, his magic and your arousal still scratching at your veins, warning you they won’t stay silent for long. 

And so until they do, you lounge in his lap, head resting back against his shoulder while your hand is back in his hair, scratching and soothing while he purrs into your neck. 

His shadows have receded. He is almost pliant after he has fucked you, especially after doing so in front of his court, marking you, staking his claim. He draws his own power from showing them all that he hates them, that they are nothing, that you are everything. 

With your Devil sated, and your body aching, and your stomach full of his cock and his seed, there is nothing more for you to do than cast your gaze down at the wide-eyes and curious stares, the parted lips that have been forced to watch so many performances, who have seen the horrors that befall those who dare comment, who dare look away.

You smirk, and then you quirk an eyebrow at the court below you, silent and unmoving as you address them, Julian purring quietly behind you. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” You call out, an icy lilt to your voice. “This is a court, and your Master grows bored. Please him. Or he’ll leave you to me.”

And with a flurry of motion, the court comes to life.


	2. Devil Julian/AMAB Reader

He came for you in the witching hour, a shadow that lingered and watched when the darkness was already suffocating you in every way you knew. Tilting your head up to meet his blackened gaze, he had promised you safety, love, affection, to never want for anything again, _eternity_.

“I will give you everything you so desire, my love,” he had crooned into your neck, his lips to your pulse, his taloned fingertips raking at your stomach with an edge that made you shiver. “Every morsel of food you crave, rooms of splendid books, musicians who will play any symphony for your wanting ears, any trinket you could imagine with your dizzy mind.”

Still locked into the abyss of his gaze, you felt his hand slide further down your stomach, talons retracting until he found you between your thighs, stiff and hot and aching. His fingers had made such fast work of you as he spoke, seeming to know every inch of your being, as though he were born for the sole purpose of making you whimper his name.

“I will make you scream,” he had murmured against your lips, though never with a kiss, he would not have allowed you such a gift without a bargain. “And sigh and cry out and arch against me, so happy and loved and filled. Oh, you will never want in this vile world ever again. All you must do, my love, my sweetest poison, is agree to be mine. Won’t you be mine, for an eternity and a day?”

You had accepted his offer without thought, before he had even had a chance to make you gasp and tremble, letting him steal you away in the night and away to his domain, never to be seen again.

*

You had learned quickly that he could not lie, and that every word he had whispered to you that night in his delicate croon had not merely been to woo and weaken your will.

The gifts he presented you with were boundless, and every thought or whim was seemingly read by him the moment it entered your consciousness, ending in you being presented with the solution a mere moment after. 

Exotic foods, crackling woodfires, endless rows of tombs and trinkets, the finest of silks, musicians who would play until their fingers bled just to hear you sigh in the delight of their sounds—anything you so desired, and every part of it was for you.

But his gifts to you weren’t merely objects, or people to puppet and taunt at his will. His appetite as this being knew no bounds. This demonic beast with curved horns and blackened eyes and a soul that faded piece by piece with each passing day delighted in making you shiver and keen, in tasting every inch of your stiff cock and beads of pre-come whenever he pleased. Enjoyed fucking you for hours on end under the stars that stretched out above his black silk sheets while you writhed and cried out beneath him. 

His stamina was preternatural, an inhuman and almost feral feature to his new body. He came as often or as little as he liked, as much as he needed to, filling you with his seed, listening to you whimper at the warmth of it. Nothing seemed to turn him on more than the flush of your cheeks as he watched it drip out of you, as he patted the swell of your stomach after filling you for hours, or as he ran the sharp points of his talons over the streaks of it that were still dried along the backs and insides of your thighs hours later.

But in his eternity of torment and punishment as the ruler of this new monstrous realm and its demonic dwellers, he wanted nothing more than _you_, to please and hold and have you whenever he so desired. And in giving yourself to him – in agreeing to come here, to be his, for an eternity and a day – you had never once wanted for anything in return.

*

He calls for you with a soft croon, a low voice that seems to carry on the whispers of magic that linger throughout his palace and between the bodies of his chattering court, out to where you are standing on the balcony overlooking the city.

_My dearest love, won’t you come join me on my throne?_

You would have answered him, in any version of your world even without the pull at the base of your throat, the magical tether that kept you _his_. 

Your fingertips curl around the frame as you step into the room, his glorious throne looming in the center, casting shadows along every wall and edge and face in the room. 

And perched upon it is your love, your devil, your eternity, shadows spilling from his eyes, curling around his body, seeping out into the room and holding every member of his court prisoner, forced to watch as the object of his affections—the only true thing he cares for—steps into view.

As you wait for your orders, feet held by an unseen force that is part you, part him, your eyes drag up the dais to where he is perched. Chin propped up on his arm, knees spread, looking every bit the man—the devil, the beast—that has always wanted to be where he is.

“Will you crawl for me, my pet?” He speaks in a lazy murmur, as though your entrance has woken him from a slumber, slowly rousing his interest in the world around him. “Will you let me see how those delicate chains swing and pull on your nipples as you move? How your aching, tortured cock makes you whimper and sigh and has every eye in this room turn green?”

There was once a time where you might have flushed at his words. Where you might have tried to stutter out an apology to people listening. Or turned away so as to avoid their attentions when they heard what he wanted from you. Where you would have looked down to avoid his gaze so that it couldn’t wrap itself around your throat, your heart, your soul. 

But the reality of it was that he was already in all of those places, his lingering shadows woven so intricately throughout every heartbeat and breath that if you ever tried to turn away, ever tried to deny him, something might break that you would never be able to fix again.

And so you—dressed in nothing but nipple clamps, a collar, an intricate weaving of chains connecting every sensitive part to your body—get down on your knees to crawl. It’s a slow but practised movement, one you know how to do so perfectly, so exact, to ensure his attentions and pleasure. 

He seems to grow ten times in size as he eyes you in your approach, the air thrumming and crackling with the tendrils of his power as it reaches out to every corner and being in the room, seizing control of them. 

You feel your lips curve in a smirk at the envious looks his court throws you as you climb your way up the stairs to settle at his feet. Each movement—the stretch of your arms, the content little heave of your chest—pulls at your nipples, the tiny string that leads down your stomach and connects itself to the hoop pierced through the head of your cock. You whine and falter, elbows bowing as a bolt of electricity runs through your entire body. 

A matching shiver runs through Julian’s body, his gaze keeping yours locked as you finally arrive at his feet, where he tilts your head back with a long, pointed talon.

You know this dance well. Can read each look in his blackened eyes, each twist of shadow that seeps out of him. 

He wants a show. 

He wants to be _enthralled_.

He wants to be reminded of his place in your life, that you do want to be here, that his existence here isn’t a punishment but a reward, a chance to have you all to himself.

And so you sit up onto your knees, shift your hips forward, and begin to grind your stiff, aching cock on his leg.

The thing about this world, about Julian’s tendrils of power that slink throughout the realm and follow you wherever you go, protecting you, letting him know where you are…it all keeps you bound to him in more ways than one, including those in which he feeds your arousal whenever he needs you, always keeps you on edge and stiff and yearning for him. As though it were one last attempt at keeping you with him, even though you’ve told him so many times he doesn’t need those measures.

And so within moments, you are hot and hard and throbbing, shuddering and whining against his le as you use the roughness of his hair, his skin, the hard length of bone to get yourself off. 

Your noises carry out into the chamber, a symphony for all to hear and a soothing song for Julian’s racing heart. It caresses the tiny part of him that is still human, that doubts whether you truly do want to be here, even though he asked, even though you said yes, even though for however many days or weeks or years since, you have never once denied him.

When his hand curls into your hair, you cease your movements, turning your head to nip the skin at his wrist. Your eyes are wide, begging, lips parted and waiting for him. 

He tuts, he laughs, he _croons_, and when he speaks, it carries out into every corner of the room for all to hear.

“Would you like me to finish you with my mouth, pet?” He asks. He traces your bottom lip with a single finger, and you greedily wrap your tongue around it, suckling it into your mouth to the second knuckle, moaning softly. “I’ll place you on my throne and part your pretty little thighs for all to see…to show them I will only ever be on my knees for _you_.”

You shake your head, suckling a second finger into your mouth. You begin to grind once more against his leg, up and down motions that make the chains connected to your nipples and the head of your cock shake and pull, making it perfectly clear exactly what you want.

A wicked grin curves Julian’s lips, and his obsidian eyes shifting down your body. They watch the movement of your lips on his fingers, the heaving movements of your chest, the desperate little movements of your hips as you try so hard to get yourself off.

“You want my cock? Is that what you need, my pet?” You nod. “Will you take it all in your ass, in front of my entire court? Will you writhe and scream and beg while they watch?” You nod again, and Julian growls, pulling his fingers from your mouth and taking hold of your neck, tilting your gaze up to his. “Use your words, pet.”

“Yes!” You gasp out, clawing at his hand, your hips still grinding shamelessly against his leg. “_Yes_—I want your cock, I want—I want to show everyone who I belong to—”

_Belong. Yours. Own._ Any combination of those words, murmured from your shaking lips or screamed out for the entire realm to hear, were always enough to set him off. 

In a blur of movement he has you off the ground and pinned to his body, your back against his burning chest, his cock standing proud before you nestled in a thatch of dark curls.

You don’t bother to hide your desperate little whine as your gaze falls to it. Of all the things you love about him in this form, his cock is perhaps your favourite. It is…_huge,_ there is no other sweet or kind or wordy way to put it. It is impossible huge, and wide, and long, and can last for as long as you are able to—which, with the magic of the realm and the magic Julian feeds you for your energy and arousal, is seemingly forever. 

As his teeth sink into your shoulder, you feel a shudder erupt through your body, pre-come dripping from the head of your cock, joining the pearls gathered at the head of his own as he gently ruts his cock against yours. 

“Part your pretty thighs, pet,” Julian murmurs into your ear. His voice is so quiet, barely-there, and just for you, and if you hold your breath, you can just barely hear _him_ in there, the man he was before, and the sound makes your eyes sting.

Exhaling softly, you move as asked and he moves your hips, holding you above the weeping, swollen head of his cock. You feel another wave of magic settle over you, stretching and relaxing your tight little hole, coating your walls in lubricant to ease his entrance. 

And as he begins to lower you down onto his cock, the movement an exquisitely slow torture you would not wish on any being, you taste blood in your mouth, tongue caught between your teeth to stop you from babbling and begging and crying out for him to move faster, go deeper, tear you apart.

His face is buried in your neck as he murmurs to you, soft words and soft kisses and soft groans, letting your whines and keens be the only music to your joining movement. His grip on your hips tightens with every inch he sinks into you, until you are resting against his thighs. His cock is completely seated inside of you, stretching your ass and swelling your stomach. His talons have sunk into the skin of your hips, causing little beads of blood to form, shudders of pleasure replacing the pain that should be there.

You begin to move, not needing his words to know when your performance should start. You shift, a low groan erupting from your body as you squeeze around him. You hear the clinking of metal, followed a moment later by the pull of the collar around your neck, the chain wrapped securely around Julian’s fist as he settles back into his throne. 

You can see the smirk so clearly in your mind, the languid rake of his gaze as it moves along you. Your shoulders, your back, your ass, every inch of you that shifts and bounces as you ride him with sweet sighs and strangled moans. 

He cannot take his eyes from you; this court, this throne, this place, it bores him, you are what he wants. He could watch you ride his cock for hours, and sometimes he does, holding off your orgasm and feeding you magic so that you never tire, just listening to your delicious little whimpers and pleas as you bounce on his cock, skin slapping against skin.

Sometimes, when court has ended and the throne room is empty and shrouded in darkness, he’ll have you curled into his chest and neck while you cockwarm him. He’ll rake his talons up and down your back in an almost gentle touch as you shudder around him. It’s always so silent, so still, so quiet. It’s the most human you ever see him.

This won’t be one of those times, though. You can feel his magic weaving its way through your body, fuelling your energy, ensuring no movement is too much or too painful for you to handle, only pleasure, every loss of his cock as you lift off it painful, and every stretch as you sink back down euphoric.

You come apart when his teeth sink into your neck, bruising and bleeding you with his sharp little teeth for all to see. The pressure building inside of you recedes, sending your mind blissfully blank before it returns in force, making you groan and cry out. You spill over your thighs and stomach as you claw at him, hands in his hair, nails sinking into his thigh, each action causing him to shudder and twitch along with you, filling you with his seed, marking you in every way he can. 

Once you have come back down—once your breathing has settled, and your greedy little hole has stopped twitching around him—you lean back with a quiet murmur. The world is a muted grey, a little foggy, his magic and your arousal still scratching at your veins, warning you they won’t stay silent for long. 

And so until they do, you lounge in his lap, head resting back against his shoulder while your hand is back in his hair, scratching and soothing while he purrs into your neck. 

His shadows have receded. He is almost pliant after he has fucked you, especially after doing so in front of his court, marking you, staking his claim. He draws his own power from showing them all that he hates them, that they are nothing, that you are everything. 

With your Devil sated, and your body aching, and your abdomen swollen from his cock and his seed, there is nothing more for you to do than cast your gaze down at the wide-eyes and curious stares, the parted lips that have been forced to watch so many performances, who have seen the horrors that befall those who dare comment, who dare look away.

You smirk, and then you quirk an eyebrow at the court below you, silent and unmoving as you address them, Julian purring quietly behind you. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” You call out, an icy lilt to your voice. “This is a court, and your Master grows bored. Please him. Or he’ll leave you to me.”

And with a flurry of motion, the court comes to life.


End file.
